


Masterpiece

by taegisoo



Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 16:22:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6964114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taegisoo/pseuds/taegisoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hakyeon had never been truly painted as he wished, but he never knew it would be like this.</p><p>Inspired by The Picture Of Dorian Gray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masterpiece

**Author's Note:**

> I only edited this half way so sorry for any mistakes.

It wasn’t hard to know  _ who _ he was, all you had to do was pay attention to any little topic in the city. He, without fail, was a passing topic of every dinner party, wedding, anniversary. No matter the occasion this man was mentioned and everyone in the room for a moment sat and listened as the newest information was spoken about the man. It was rare to attend an event and not see his most recent muse. Hardly did a day go by that his name was not spoken. It was shocking for a month to pass and his newest work not be displayed. No, the problem was not  _ who _ he was but  _ where.  _

Hakyeon had been posing for artists for about three months and still had yet to find one that appreciated him enough to take him on as more than a one time art piece. The pay was less than what he was hoped, but he stuck with it with the dream of someday finding someone who was able to see the true beauty in him. He was able to get by each month on the small amount he was being paid and so until he was unable to eat he would tread on. Therefore he continued his never ending train of awkward poses and much too long sessions for the small amount he was given and continued dreaming of someday meeting up with the famous man and he taking Hakyeon in as his muse.

Hakyeon thought this over carefully as he stood at the head of the room by Jaehwan’s side, watching from the corner of his eye as he fidgeted nervously. As the doors opened and the bride entered the room all attention was taken away from the men at the front and turned to the beautiful woman in white as she made her way down the aisle. Hakyeon was given the opportunity to scan the crowd, seeing who had been able to make it and how had not, delighted to find the face of Wonsik smiling happily along with the rest of the crowd. Wonsik had been the man’s most recent muse and Hakyeon was determined to find some way of getting information today and Wonsik was his gift from heaven. The work Wonsik had produced had been lovely, the angles and colors of his body bringing crowds of people from all around to gawk and stare at the almost lifelike sight. Hakyeon could only hope he someday could also be the subject of such amazing artwork. He was about to turn his attention back to the ceremony when suddenly piercing eyes met his, holding his attention for a little longer. Wonsik had caught him, a sharp chill running up his spin at the continuous gaze. He kept his face calm, hiding any upset that could be seen there, a trait he had mastered over the years, and held Wonsik’s gaze. The other nodded at him and looked away, breaking the heavy tension and allowing Hakyeon to turn his attention to the happy couple but he was unable to focus entirely. The unnatural, ghostly white appearance of Wonsik stained into his brain, the dead like eyes leaving a lingering of despair. Hakyeon hoped the other man was not too ill and determined to ask him after the ceremony.

There was a cloth patch covering part of his neck. Hakyeon had assumed it was fatigue that caused his tired eyes and discoloration but the cloth on his neck struck something deep inside, something uneasy that Hakyeon was unable to identify, unable to shake. He walked up to the other, the pale man’s eyes instantly finding Hakyeon’s form in the crowd and locking onto him. He was in a beeline to the other when suddenly Hakyeon heard it. The painters name.

“Didn’t you hear who his newest inspiration…”

“...surprised the poor boy can stand, looks like he did quite the damage to this one…”

“I always do wonder how he makes them so life like…”

“...maybe he takes the life out of them.”

All around him was talk, laughter, the name being thrown around without a care, but most of all he heard talk of Wonsik. Talk of him like he wasn’t standing feet away, like he wasn’t pushing his way through the crowd to Hakyeon as the others were speaking. It was as if they could not see him but Hakyeon could and the closer the man was the more uneasy Hakyeon became.

“Good to see you, Hakyeon.”

Everything around him went silent except for the ringing of Wonsik’s deep voice. The room became a dull blur as his vision was filled with pale skin and weak, black eyes.

“I hope you’re well.”

Hakyeon cleared his throat, trying hard to remain calm as he responded. “I’m feeling just fine, Wonsik, but you seem a little worse for wear.”

He laughed, a soft chuckle, the air tickling Hakyeon’s cheek as it escaped from Wonsik’s mouth. “You could say that I suppose. Nothing to worry about though, just a small accident is all.”

Hakyeon nodded, feeling uneasy still, not truly believing the words being spoken.

“But health is not exactly why I came over to you today, Hakyeon. You see, as I’m sure you know,  recently I was able to work with  _ him _ and, well, he has asked me to bring him his next….victim if you will.”

He swallowed, the liquid struggling past the lump in his throat as he listened, anxiety building up in his stomach.

“He always asks for someone specific, did you know? He asked for me specifically and the man before me and so on and so forth…. and now he is asking for you.”

Hakyeon couldn’t believe what he was hearing, never in a million years did he believe he would have the chance to meet, let alone work with him. The beauty in his paintings and the secrecy of his nature attracted Hakyeon in ways he could never explain. He closed his mouth which had been hung open and shocked and swallowed once more, trying to process exactly what was happening but was not given the chance to do so.

As quickly as the conversation started it ended and Wonsik was gone, captured by the crowd of people, leaving Hakyeon on his own with a confused mind and a small slip of paper in his hand. He clasped tightly to it, changing his express to happiness as he greeted those around him and congratulated the couple before swiftly leaving the room, making his way through the small garden, and on to the empty street.

Without his knowing someone had been watching, hidden by the shadows on the dark street, observing Hakyeon’s reaction as he opened the small slip and read it. His expression showed surprise and a small amount of fear, making the man in the dark smile softly before walking away, listening to the footsteps behind him take off into a jog, watching the figure run ahead, paying no attention to the man on the street as he hurried away. But that was okay. The shadowed man would see him soon enough, he did not need to see him now.

* * *

Hakyeon became more and more nervous as he walked down the street, feet crunching on the loose gravel being the only noise he heard besides his own breathing. Any passing person or carriage caused him to jump and hurry past until he was left once again with his own silence. It had been two days since the wedding, two days since he had seen Wonsik, two days since he had received the small note telling him where to go. He was afraid at first, this side of town was always spoken about in a bad way and Hakyeon had never been there once in his entire life. He never thought he would step foot on this side of town but things never seemed to work out how they are planned.

The further up the street he walked the more eerie it became. Men and women scattered about, some standing but many simply sat in the gutters, leering up at him as he walked past. He tried his hardest not to look down at them, not to meet their eyes. The shops on the street glowed with an unnatural light, strange scents floating out the doorways and into Hakyeon’s brain, leaving him with a fuzzy feeling he couldn’t quite shake. It felt like ages before he reached the little street sign, glancing down at the crumpled piece of paper in his hand and back up to the dirty black sign, taking in a deep sigh before turning onto the small, dark street. It was hard to tell where he was but the few lanterns along the way helped him to keep track of the house numbers.

He wondered how he had gotten into this predicament, moving to turn back once or twice but remembering each time that this was his one true shot at being treated as he wanted. He tried to convince himself that there are other painters, talented painters, but each time his mind brought up the image of the almost real paintings of the people he knew. He wanted so badly to become one of those people and mustered up what little courage he had a tread on. The other had made this journey without having any problem and he would be able to also.

It took much longer than it should but finally Hakyeon reached the small red door with the peeling white numbering of 238 that was printed on the small slip of paper. He looked up, breathing shallow, and knocked softly on the door. Silence filled his ears in a thunderous roar as the next few moments of his life seemed to drag on for an eternity until suddenly his ears were filled with the sound of footsteps. His heart leapt into his throat as he suddenly became hyper aware of every little flaw that could be seen; his misplaced hair and too short slacks, the spot on his shoe he had not polished before leaving, the small stain at the bottom of his tucked in shirt. He thought about running, afraid of being seen in such a state by a man so much greater than himself but just as he was about to turn and leave the door clicked and swung open to reveal something Hakyeon had not expected.

He looked down, much further than he would have thought, to see a short man, obviously higher in his years, looking not at Hakyeon but past him. He quickly motioned the man inside and glanced up and down the street before shutting the door. Hakyeon took the opportunity to look around the house, expecting it to match the dark and dreary outside but was pleasantly surprised to find the opposite. The amber red carpet and soft tan walls were brightly lit by the many golden lamps set out on various tables and hanging from hooks on the walls. The man lead him up a narrow set of steps in a slightly dimmer but just a pleasant hallway. They stopped outside a heavy wooden set of double doors where the man pulled out a silver key and quickly unlocked on.

He held it open and gestured for Hakyeon to enter, speaking softly for the first time, “Please go in quickly. Change into what has been laid out for you and wait where ever you please. Master will be in shortly.”

Hakyeon moved swiftly into the room, understanding now the old man was not the famous artist but a servant. He glanced around and saw he had entered into what seemed to be a bedroom but had an easel and canvas set up in the middle of the room. Three of the corners held a different chair with the final having a small bed nestled next to the window. It was obviously set up to be used for painting and not much else but had the potential for many different poses and scenes. The wooden floor was cold as he removed his shoes, finding a white robe laid out on the arm chair nearest him and taking it to mean this session would be natural as many of Hakyeon’s seemed to be. This did not bother him, in fact it added a sense of comfort having posed nude so many times before. It was something he was used to and something he considered himself to be good at

He tied the small belt around his waist and looked again around the room, eyes landing on the small table sat up next to the easel, making his way over, not thinking about his actions. He picked up one of the small brushes on the table, having spent much of his time around painters he had become aware of many different brands and was able to pinpoint how much he may get paid by what brush the painter was using. The small, red handled bristles however confused the man. The handle held no label, no etching of a name, no marks at all. Hakyeon stared down at it along with the scattering of other red brushes and wondered where they had come from.

“Hello.”

A soft voice sounded from behind, then the clatter of the brush falling from Hakyeon’s hand as he quickly turned to face the other. A man, slightly taller than himself stood just inside the door, his sculpted face looking not at Hakyeon but at the fallen brush. Hakyeon stuttered out an apology, moving quickly to pick up the item and return it to it’s place, stepping away from easel while looking down, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s no problem.”

He spoke very softly and held no expression that he was upset with Hakyeon, simply moving to the canvas and sitting on the stool behind it. Hakyeon watched him move and was able to fully take in the other man. Hair a light brown, obviously highlighted by the sun making Hakyeon wonder what activities he was involved in besides painting. His small eyes were bright with something Hakyeon could not name but it excited him in a way he was not used to. His sculpted jaw lead smoothly down to long, thick neck which branched out into broad shoulders and a skinny but built frame. He was handsome, there was no denying that, but something about the silence of the man lead Hakyeon to not push him as he would the usual painter. He allowed him to take his time in setting up the equipment, watching as he slowly replaced the brushes to their original, straight line, and watched as each color of paint was squeezed out to the exact same amount. It was amazing the care that was put into each little step and it touched Hakyeon that someone loved the art as much as he.

Finally the painter finished, taking a long look at the blank canvas before glancing to Hakyeon. He nodded and sat toward the front of the stool, waiting.

“Wh-what pose?”

“Any”

Hakyeon had worked with many strange artists before but never one who simply gave him free liberty to do as he pleased. It took him a moment to fully understand what the painter had said before he moved, walking over to the arm chair he had noticed before, it’s light blue color emphasizing his dark skin, removed the white robe and sat with his left foot on his knee, arms resting on the sides, and looking out the window just behind the painters frame.

The other man nodded, taking in the full look of the scene Hakyeon had put him in and picked up on of the smaller of the brushes, dipping it into the lighter shade of blue, and touching it to the canvas. It was rare for Hakyeon to be in a position where he could watch the painter as he worked and he found it interesting. He would sometimes hear the artist talk to himself but this one was fully silent, the only sound in the room being the soft scratch of the bristles against the canvas. His long, nimble fingers worked steadily, creating something Hakyeon could not see but knew would be a masterpiece and it warmed him.  

Most sessions seemed to last too long for Hakyeon but this one seemed to end before it had even started. Not an hour into and the painter was standing and clearing away his supplies.

“You’ve finished?” Hakyeon spoke with disbelief. He knew the man was talented but never could have predicted this.

The painter only nodded and made a curt gesture for Hakyeon to take a look. Shocked, he stood, moving quickly to the other side of the canvas, robe still discarded on the ground, and was even more shocked by what filled his eyes.

It was not a masterpiece. In fact it could hardly be called art at all, the blur of colors were indeed accurate to the scene but that’s all it was. Colors on a page and not the life like experience Hakyeon was used to seeing. He looked back at the artist, hurt and confused, to find the man watching him.

“It’s not finished.”

His voice was soft and kind, moving closer to Hakyeon, a brush held in his hands.

Hakyeon swallowed, nervously looking down at the red handle and noticed it to be the one he had dropped earlier.

“When will it be finished?”

The brush spun in his hand, bristles pointing out toward Hakyeon, the painter looking down at it fondly. The silence between them grew uncomfortably until finally it broke. The man looking up into Hakyeon’s face, speaking just as softly as before.

“Now.”

His hand moved slowly, but quick enough that Hakyeon did not know what exactly was happening. The stiff bristles broke against his skin, fanning out against his wrist. Hakyeon looked down at the feeling, eyes growing wide.

The place the bristles had touched was no longer the dark brown color of his skin but a deep crimson, the color of wine only deeper, and he realized it was not paint. The skin where the brush had been was gone but Hakyeon felt no pain. He looked up at the painter, finding the man staring down at the spot he had created, brush still lifted in the air. He lifted his eyes to meet Hakyeon’s, the brightness from before now gone and replaced with something that caused a shiver to run down Hakyeon’s spine. The painter's eyes returned to the wound, looking at it with interest nodding to himself, brush moving again to Hakyeon’s skin but this time sweeping a line up the man’s arm.

Hakyeon looked down and watched as the skin faded away to reveal the deep crimson underneath only this time it did not stop. It was not confined only to where the brush had touched but instead grew, his entire arm ridding itself of it’s own skin, blood and veins being revealed underneath. It reached his elbow and went past, the revealed wound changing again, the barrier gone, and blood rushed out of his, staining the floor red. Hakyeon panicked, gripping with his other hand at the skin still on his body, looking to the painter for help but found the man watching, a small smile on his face.

Hakyeon knew not what to do, he felt frozen to the spot, unable to move, unable to speak. Afraid, he was only able to watch as his skin continued to recede, the blood continued to pour out, it had reached his neck and was traveling down his body quickly, leaving his head untouched on top of a grotesque shape of a man made up of muscles and fat, stood in a pool of crimson. Hakyeon still felt no pain, only panic, as the thumping of his heart reached his own ears until it didn’t.

He looked down at himself, the image a sight he would never forget, and watched as the movement in his chest came to a stop. He quickly met his eyes with the painters and whispered softly.

“Why? Why did you do this?”

Before collapsing to the ground, blood splashing up over the body and onto the painters shoes. He made no response, simply moved to the fallen figure and squatted down. He looked into the other’s face, the only true remaining part of the man, and smiled. His caressed the cheek, gently stroking over the features until he reached the eyes. His long, pale fingers gripped the small globe and pulled, a small snap sounding as it came loose and brought it up to his own, nodding once again. He took the brush, still held in his other hand, and dipped it into the pool on the ground, standing and gentle touching it to the canvas, watching as the image transformed. It was exactly what Hakyeon wanted, the perfect life like image of himself that no other artist had been able to capture. The movement stopped and the only thing missing was the very needed eyes. The painter smiled softly, looking at the ball in his hand, and gently pressed it into the canvas. Two eyes appeared and the man stood back, looking at his perfect creation.

There was a knock at his door as the servant came to retrieve the newest work. The man called out for a moment and dipped the brush once again into the crimson before slowing signing his name in the bottom left corner. 

He moved away from the easel and stepped gentle over the fallen body to open the door. Nodding swiftly to his servant he spoke, “It is complete now. You know what to do,” before walking quickly down the hall. 

The servant watched his retreating form before entering the room. With a snap of his fingers the pool of crimson and man like form slowly disappeared. He gently lifted the canvas and blew softly on the still drying signature, observing the work before wrapping it carefully and setting it aside, commenting quietly to himself, “a masterpiece, as always, master Leo.”

**Author's Note:**

> It's been awhile since I've written and this is most definitely an interesting way to come back to writing but I've been thinking about it for awhile and finally had the time to do it. Sorry if it's not what you expected or if you hate me now. Comments are welcome and appreciated as always. Thank you for reading.


End file.
